Angelbound THRAX

by Christina Bauer

“Change of plans!” Cissy puts the ambulance in reverse and peels away from the guard station.

  I lean forward on the cot. “Cissy, be careful!” She really is a crappy driver, as evidenced by the fact that we start doing a donut on the tarmac.

  “I don’t know where I’m going!” calls Cissy.

  Craning my neck, I scope out the airport through the front windshield. “It’s all right, Cis. There’s another guard station on the other side of the airport.” I point to the spot in question. “As long as there’s no one dumb enough to stand in front of it, we can break through the arm and get out of here.”

  “Right. Good. We’re off.” Cissy punches the accelerator, and I fall back onto my bum. Still, it could be worse.

  As we tool across the tarmac, the squeal of tires and whoop of sirens sounds behind us. That human guard just called in the cavalry.

  Okay, it’s definitely worse.

  Lincoln takes my hand and guides me to lean back onto the cot. “Myla, listen to me. We may not escape. We may have to go back to the laboratory.”

  For a moment, I can only stare at Lincoln in shocked silence. What’s wrong with him? Did they torture all the fight from his soul? I give his hand a gentle pat. “Have a little faith.” I hitch my thumb toward the windshield. “We’re only a three runways away from the other gate…and getting ourselves out of here.” I cross my fingers. My tail crosses itself, which I appreciate as well.

  Come on, Cissy.

  Lincoln shakes his head. “I wanted to say something before, but there wasn’t time. It’s just so great to be back together, and I love you so much.”

  My mouth falls open. Lincoln must have gotten his brains scrambled in that lab. Any warrior worth his salt knows the rules: you do not start with gooey love-you talk in the middle of an escape.

  The whump-whump of helicopters sounds overhead. My pulse goes through the roof. Souped-up motorcycles appear, approaching us from both sides of the ambulance. Cissy swerves left and right to avoid them. A bunch of wires and stuff break loose from the wall of meds before us. It’s a small price to pay.

  Only two more runways to go.

  Lincoln grips my hand. “You must understand. If we must go back, it might not be the end of the world. We’d be together. Isn’t that the most important thing of all?”

  I scrunch up my nose into my you’re acting crazy face. “What do you mean? Do you need to lay down or something?” An odd chill creeps up my spine.

  Something is wrong here. Very wrong.

  Cissy calls from the driver’s seat. “One more runway!”

  “You’re doing great, babe,” says Zeke.

  Lincoln cups my face in his hands. “Look, I’m serious. Ethan’s work is important. They need you and the baby to finish it.”

  My breath catches. Inch by inch, I examine every line of Lincoln’s face. The skin under his left eye is drooping.

  Oh, damn. He’s a clone.

  Or maybe he just got his brains temporarily zapped out in the laboratory. A girl can hope, right?

  I grip Maybe Lincoln’s wrists and pull them down from my face. “Where was our first kiss?”

  “Myla.” A muscle twitches along his jawline.

  “Answer me.”

  “Our first kiss was almost in the honeymoon palace, but you were too damned suspicious.”

  My heart sinks. An almost-kiss in the honeymoon palace? This is even worse. I not only rescued a clone, I rescued the original Evil Lincoln.

  Hells bells.

  I shake my head. “I should have guessed. That whole rescue was too easy. There were no guards at first, and then? A Felton clone waltzes right out of the lab.” I want to face-palm myself. Hard.

  “We’re almost there!” Cissy’s voice quivers with excitement.

  That’s when the biggest, baddest helicopter in the universe plunks down from the sky to block our path. It hovers right before us as its guns angle straight at our windshield. Cissy slams on the brakes, and we screech to a halt.

  A voice comes over the chopper’s loudspeaker. “Hold your hands up, and we won’t shoot.”

  Cissy calls over her shoulder. “Myla, should we—”

  “You can’t drive into an attack helicopter. And based on the noises, we’re surrounded. Don’t risk your lives any more than you have already.”

  Zeke takes Cissy’s hand, and together they raise their arms. It’s so sweet, and it makes me feel guilty as Hell for dragging them into this. I turn to Evil Lincoln. “I hate you.”

  He sniffs. “We wanted you to do this willingly. It will be tricky to keep you sedated through the whole pregnancy. Ethan thought that since I knew you the best, I might be able to convince you—”

  “Fat chance.”

  “I’m starting to see that.” Evil Lincoln rubs his jaw, and it makes the skin under his eyes droop more. “You should do this willingly. It’s safer for you and the baby.”

  At that moment, the back of the ambulance swings open. Ethan stands before me again, looking like a deranged and baby-faced gas station attendant. “You ruined my special day, Myla Lewis.”

  “Good.” My tail pops up to give Ethan a modified version of a nasty hand gesture.

  “How sweet,” snarls Ethan. “Now, let’s take you to your real husband, shall we? With you along as motivation, I know he’ll surrender the rest of his soul. How I hate to lose any more power simply because he refuses to cooperate. But with his wife and child at risk? I think we’ll achieve a far better result.”

  Icy dread fills my body. “You wouldn’t.”

  Ethan simply grins his Chiclet smile. He totally would.

  There’s no way in Hell I’m going to be used as bait to drain my husband’s soul. Rising to my feet, I’m about to bolt and try to escape on foot when I feel the cold barrel of a gun at my neck. That would be Evil Lincoln. He’s at it again. “Come along, wifey.”

  “Bite me, creep.”

  “And don’t think about changing your little robes again. We know how to puncture anything. If not with a gun, with a needle.”

  There’s nothing I can say to that. I already found out that Ethan can drug me even through my body armor. I simply have to follow along and hope for an opportunity to escape.

  Ethan points at Zeke and Cissy. “You two. We have reports of someone visiting the CHUCK tent and hacking in to get access to equipment.”

  Cissy’s eyes go super large. She appears mega innocent as she asks: “Who’s CHUCK?”

  Ethan huffs out a frustrated breath. “Please. Everyone knows CHUCK is the supercomputer that runs Hunter Enterprises.”

  Zeke raises his hand. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Someone visited the display tent for CHUCK, hacked into the system, and rerouted some equipment. A few of our guards were injured. Know anything about that?”

  Zeke slips his injured hand deeper under his armpit. “Nope.”

  “Someone locked down our systems with a new password. Know anything about that either?”

  There’s no mistaking the proud gleam in Cissy’s eyes. “Wow, whoever that was must be an excellent hacker. Like a natural genius or something.” My girl knows she’s caught and is just living the moment. That’s my Cis.

  Ethan’s face reddens with rage. “Both of you are going right back to the CHUCK tent and fixing whatever you did. In return, I promise your death will not be painful.”

  My hand pops over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.” Cissy and Zeke came here to help me, and now they’re in worse trouble than ever.

  Cissy gives me a sad smile before lifting her chin and turning to Ethan. “I’m still not sure what you’re talking about with this CHUCK thing, but I’ll take a look.” Together, she and Zeke crawl out of the front cab. I watch the Razor Guards take them off into the night. My heart sinks. What have I done?

  Evil Lincoln leans in closer. “There’s still time to join our side, you know.”

  When I answer him, I make sure to have my eyes flare red with demonic rage. “Never.”


  Ethan knocks on the back metal door of the ambulance, grabbing my attention. “Time to get out.” Ethan pulls a gun from the pocket of his gas station attendant uniform and points it right at my stomach. “Now.”

  Every nerve ending in my body goes on alert. Not only is Ethan pointing a gun at me, but he has dozens of Razor Guards around him as well. Not to mention whatever weaponry Evil Lincoln may be hiding, and that guy is right beside me.

  This is it. Game over.

  My mind reels as I crawl out of the ambulance and into a living nightmare. My husband’s still missing, and now I’m about to turn MIA as well. Plus, since everyone in the after-realms already thinks I’m dead, no one will come searching for me.

  Crap on a cracker.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I stand on a runway at LaGuardia, surrounded by Ethan, Evil Lincoln, and a bunch of Razor Guards. The air feels like it’s pressing in around me, but that could just be the humidity from the nearby Hudson River.

  As far as I can see, all the tarmacs are filled with locals. Night is falling, but everyone’s still here for Ethan’s Touch The Tech Event. Mobile spotlights dot the various runways, so the place is cast in a weird daytime glow even though it’s getting darker by the second. I scan the crowd for human police. After all, Evil Lincoln has a gun to my back. Humans have laws about this stuff.

  I’ve barely begun looking around when Ethan leans in closer. “Call for help and you’re dead.”

  I inhale a deep breath. I am so screaming my lungs out.

  Evil Lincoln jams the gun harder against my spine. “Just give me a reason to shoot you,” he snarls.

  Ethan lifts his hand. A syringe glimmers in his grasp. “Or I can shoot you another way. Your choice.”

  That line shuts me up and how. So far, I’m lucky they haven’t gone straight for sedation. There’s no point poking the bear on this one.

  “I’m taking her back to the lab,” announces Evil Lincoln.

  “You? Absolutely not.” Ethan waves his stubby-fingered hand again. “You’re far too emotionally attached. Get the H-E Launch ready.”

  “But—”

  “I said, the H-E Launch.”

  Evil Lincoln lets out an angry huff, and it’s just so satisfying that he’s ticked off. Angling my head, I give him a snarky grin. Sure, it hurts my neck to crane it this way, but you really have to appreciate the little joys in life. Like pissing off your fake husband.

  “Run along now, Clone Boy,” I say with a wink.

  Evil Lincoln lowers his voice to growl in my ear. “I could shoot you now.”

  “So do it.”

  Evil Lincoln talks a good game, but he fools no one. Ethan calls the shots here. Literally.

  I hear the click of the gun getting cocked, and that’s when Ethan loses his freaking mind. “Lincoln Unit 47-J! I said to move out!”

  Evil Lincoln steps aside so another Razor Guard can keep a gun pressed firmly against my back. He’s hiding the weapon in the pocket of his Nazi coat. It should be obvious to anyone looking for a gun.

  Trouble is, all the humans adore Ethan. He’s their savior. No one’s expecting him to have a guard threaten random women at LaGuardia. Again, humans excel at avoiding realities, even when those facts are right before their eyes.

  I’d be bummed about this, but I’m still stuck on what Ethan said.

  Lincoln Unit 47-J? Excuse me?

  I’m so stunned I don’t even notice when Evil Lincoln slips off into the crowd. I focus on Ethan instead. “How many clones of my husband have you made, exactly?”

  Ethan rolls his eyes. “Hundreds. That’s the only one that’s still breathing, though. Your husband is rather challenging to duplicate.”

  I narrow my eyes. Makes sense. Ethan wanted to duplicate Lincoln so he could have an ongoing source of angelic soul power. Failing that, he went to the next best sources: my baby and me.

  And I’m at this freak’s mercy.

  Still, I’ll figure out something. My father always says: “Opportunity is eighty percent awareness.” And considering how he’s the general of all the archangels, my dad knows his stuff. In other words, I need to stay alert and ready, that’s all. My chance will come.

  Behind me, the Razor Guard jams the barrel of the gun harder into my back, so I take the cue and start marching across the tarmac. I don’t think we’ll have to go far. Based on the direction we’re taking, I’m guessing there’s another portal hidden somewhere in the minivan aisle. Sure enough, Ethan pauses by one of the black minivans with tinted windows. Before, Iggy and I had hidden behind one of the pastel-colored vans. I didn’t even know they had black ones on display.

  For the record: if I were making a movie about creepy serial killers and someone asked me to find a minivan for the scene where the serial killer in question abducts someone from an alley? This is exactly the model that I’d pick. Nasty.

  Ethan holds up a key fob, presses a button, and the minivan door slides open with a boop-boop. He climbs inside and disappears. That settles it.

  This is definitely another portal back to the laboratory.

  With a little urging from my friend Mister Gun, I crawl inside the minivan as well. At first, I find myself a typical back seat complete with one of those fake leather bench thingies.

  Suddenly, black smoke swirls through the air in shapes that are definitely not Earthly. The mist forms shapes that are a cross between a pinwheel and a massive snowflake.

  That’s black magic.

  Seconds later, the smoke disappears, and I’m back inside another clone room. This one resembled what I’d I visited before: a massive pod-like space made of smooth black plastic. The huge floor is covered in hundreds of glass pillars. Inside each case, there waits a different clone. But instead of naked Ethan clones, all of these columns hold demons.

  My thoughts spin through comments I’d heard before. Felton had said something about it being easy to clone demons. Now, it’s one thing to hear that you’re cloning the residents of Hell, but it’s another to see them in row after row of tanks.

  How did Ethan manage this?

  The answer appears to me in a flash. Armageddon. Ethan always got so twitchy when I mentioned the King of Hell. Is this why? Did Armageddon help Ethan clone demons? Could Ethan really be that stupid?

  I glance over at the guy in question. Ethan stands behind me with a dozen Razor Guards. He’s grinning widely and scanning the tanks. Dude thinks what he’s done here is the bomb.

  Yes, Ethan could really be that stupid.

  Another memory appears. Back during his tour, Ethan said that the Razor Guard clones were almost ready for birth. My mind whirs. These demonic clones are in the exact same kind of tanks as the Razor Guard ones. They must be ready for birth as well.

  Ready for birth? That little fact may be just the opportunity I need.

  My tail flicks behind me in its predatory shimmy. Most of the time, my backside sways in long arcs like a cat’s tail. But every once in a while, it goes all snake-like and rears up behind me, cobra style, as if it’s scoping out something to strike.

  Mostly because it is scoping out something to strike.

  And in this case, I agree with the plan wholeheartedly.

  I mean, they’re walking me through a line of glass cases stuffed with demons and they expect me not to start trouble? Sheesh. I quickly scan the exits. There’s one with a bright red door. Last time, that led toward the labs.

  Bingo.

  My pulse speeds up as the plan comes into focus. Now, all I need are some especially nasty demons to release, and after that, the fun can start. Because once I set the demons loose, it will be time to hustle to the back exit that leads toward the labs. After that, I can rescue my real husband and move on with my life. Hope sparks in my chest.

  This is a solid plan. It’s going to work.

  Ethan and his guards march me down another aisle. As I mope-walk along, I subtly scan the nearby pillars. Unfortunately, these are all filled with some pretty lame demons. I me
an, Limus demons. Really? They’re just goo monsters and not too aggressive. If I release them from their glass cages, they’ll be happy to take a nap. Nope, the Limus demons aren’t what I’m looking for. My palms become slick with sweat.

  We turn down another aisle.

  This time, I spy case after case of Reperio demons. PUH-lease. These are badass if you want to turn garbage into little elf-like creatures with bad language, but they aren’t good for much else. My insides twist with worry. This clone room is huge, but it’s not that big. I’m running out of glass pillars, along with decent chances to free something that’s really terrible.

  That’s when I see it up ahead: an entire row of Manus demons.

  SUH-weet.

  Manus demons are gorilla-like creatures with lots of brawn and even more bad attitude. All Manus have huge tusks and an even larger appetite for death. As I walk along, I swing my hips with a little more shimmy. My tail knows what that means.

  Once I give the signal, it’s go time.

  Finally, our small group passes a line of glass pillars stuffed with particularly grouchy-looking Manus demons. Their eyes even flutter open as we walk by. Perfect.

  Here’s the deal. Back in Purgatory, we store souls in what are called Ghost Towers. It takes a heavy dose of enchanted mist to keep them knocked out. If the spirits perk up at all when mortals are nearby, that means the mist levels are too low. The ghosts could easily wake up, and when they do? They’re always cranky.

  Let’s hope things with these glass tubes work the same way.

  We march close to an especially nasty-looking Manus clone, and I snap my fingers twice. That’s the signal.

  My tail goes to work skewering the glass. Jagged panes break free from their columns and tumble downward. A great crash fills the air, accompanied by the high-pitched jingle of tiny particles cascading across the floor. A plume of black smoke rises to the ceiling.

  The Manus bursts from its clear cage.

  The demon lands right atop two Razor Guards, flattening them. It takes the other two in its fists and bashes their heads together. There’s a nasty crunching sound as their skulls collide.

  Serves them right, holding a gun on a pregnant lady.